


In My Heart There Was a Kind of Fighting

by ozsyn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: It’s actually pretty cute for Thramsay, M/M, Reader-Insert, mainly sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:34:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsyn/pseuds/ozsyn
Summary: Sometimes a family is a sadist, his captive wife, and his pet human.





	1. Chapter 1

(Y/N) stalked through the halls of the castle, her long cloak trailing behind her. She was in a particularly pensive mood at the moment. No, it wasn’t because the first storm of winter was coming nor because she had just torn her favorite gown, oh, and not the fact she was forcibly married to the bloodthirsty Bastard of Bolton and has to live with the gutwrenching state of poor Theon Greyjoy whom she considered a brother. 

With that final thought on her mind, she reached the doors she was looking for and opened them.

(Y/N) sighed as she took in the sight before her and smelled the unmistakable scent of blood.

“My lady, care to join us?” came a familiar voice.

There, standing in the dark, was Lord Ramsay Bolton, her husband. 

And, lying on the nearby table was Theon Greyjoy, a still-dripping Bolton cross carved into his chest.

“I don’t want to know,” (Y/N) quickly said, having long ago given up on all of this.

“Ah, you’re no fun,” came from the seemingly-mangled mess on the table.

“No, what I am is sane.”

“Being sane is overrated,” the Lord of Winterfell retorted, currently cleaning his favorite flaying knife.

“Are we really just going to take her word for it? She’s here, isn’t she? How sane can she actually be?” again is supplied by the one on the table who is in no position to be judging her.

“I came here to tell you two to come back up, not to....whatever this is,” she gestured at the table.

“Again, it’s fun.”  
“It’s sadistic, demented, and, oh yeah, painful.”  
“That’s the fun part.”  
“Gods help you, Theon Greyjoy.”

“And nothing for me, my little she-wolf?”  
“Bolton, not even the gods could help you.”

He chucked, “l’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t one.”

“You say that as if it’s my fault Theon is like this.”  
“It’s easier to pretend it is.”

“Not everyone can be as perfect as you, Stark.”  
“Isn’t it Bolton?”

“Are we really gonna go through that again?”  
“Jealous, Greyjoy?”

“That you’re married to the man I’m sleeping with? Not really.”

“And here I thought he loved me.”  
“Unfortunately.”

“Ramsay, you are the only person I know that will admit he loves someone while covered in blood.”  
“I wouldn’t say ‘covered.’ We weren’t finished yet...”

At this, the two deplorables shared a knowing grin.

“You know what? Give me one of those knives.”  
“So you are joining us, then?”  
“I’m carving my eyes out and might take off an ear just to get this out of my head.”

“And she still calls herself sane.”

“Any sanity I may have had left by the time I found you two. Now let’s go.”

(Y/N) turned back to the door intending to leave, but-

“Ugh, Ram, can you-“ Theon gestured at the restraints holding him down.

“Oh, right,” replied Bolton, until he got a better idea. “I could untie you, but I rather think you should stay down here, in the darkness, grime, and muck where you belong, my Reek.”

“Oh please, no, Master. I’ve been good,” the still-restrained man pleaded.

At that, (Y/N) left the room, closed the door behind her, and simply said the first words that came to mind.

“Seven. Everloving. Hells.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain visitor from the Iron Islands comes to Winterfell.

Contrary to popular belief of what being married to Ramsay Bolton entails, (Y/N) often did not wake up with a knife pressed against her throat.

The holder of said knife, however, was not her sadistic husband nor his decrepit shell of a pet formerly known as Theon Greyjoy. 

In actuality, though still in the darkness of her chambers, it appeared to be a woman threatening to cut her open. 

That was, admittedly, a new one.

“Where’s my brother?” demanded a raspy voice in her ear. 

However, still being released from the confines of sleep, (Y/N) was not as quick on the uptake. 

“Who?” she managed. 

“My brother!”

“Your broth-Wait, Yara?”

“Tell me where he is!”

“Okay. Uh-I’ll take you to him. But you have to understand-“

“Do it. Now.”

And so (Y/N) found herself in arguably one of the most awkward scenarios she had ever been in. And that was seriously saying something considering who she lived with.

When they finally reached the Lord Bolton’s chambers, (Y/N) made to knock, but the knife being pressed closer to her neck made her rethink that decision, so she just opened the door.

Then, with admirable reflexes, the Lord of Winterfell shot up in bed and within seconds had his favorite flaying knife at the ready which was ultimately the least shocking part of (Y/N)’s night. 

“Drop it and I might let you live,” Bolton said, advancing with a manic grin.

It was then with impeccable timing that the other person in the bed sat up, rather clumsier than his companion. 

At the sudden approach, the woman tightened her grip and pulled (Y/N) backwards, pressing the knife closer, until she suddenly stopped in her tracks, having noticed who was occupying the same bed as the Lord Bolton.

“Boë?” she said, stunned.

“Drowned god-Yara?!” 

“Ah, squidling has a sister,” Ramsay concluded, much calmer now.

“The hell did you just call him?”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I came to rescue you.”

“And you’re doing a marvelous job with that,” Bolton retorted.

“If I could interject,” (Y/N) said, desperate to provide some clarity. “This is all a big misunderstanding. Yara, meet Ramsay. Theon’s-“

“Lover.”

“Drowned god, Ram.”

“Well if I called you my pet, (Y/N)’d kill me,” Ramsay helpfully pointed out.

“Can everyone just stop talking for a second?” (Y/N) tried again.

“Look, Theon and Ramsay are whatever they are-“

“Sleeping together.”

“Ramsay...” she growled. 

He smirked.

“But the important thing to note here is that Theon is still Theon-“

“And Reek.”

“Bolton, If you interrupt me again-“

“Enough!” finally exploded out of the woman. “So you’re both-“

“Yes.”

Yara thought about this for a minute and made a rather eloquent conclusion.

“Drowned fucking god, Theon.”

“Ooh, we’ll have to try that.”

“But I thought your...” she trailed off, suddenly aware of what she was about to say.

“Still attached and functional as ever. I should know,” Bolton replied with a smirk.

“Oh seven hells, Ram,” this time came from (Y/N).

“Look, not that I’m not happy you came to rescue me, but can we talk somewhere else...so I have time to put something on?”

It was then that the rather previously-occupied individuals realized the current situation as they gradually focused their attention on the man who had stayed in the bed.

“Stop staring.” 

“It’s hard not to.”

“Thanks, Ram.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boë means “brother.” I got it from Quicksilvermaid’s fic “Theon Greyjoy and the Goblet of Winter.” Which is literally the opposite of Thramsay, but I’m too much of a nerd to have not read a crossover like that. Brilliant writing, though.

**Author's Note:**

> (Y/N): This is my husband, Ramsay, and his boyfriend, Theon.


End file.
